


Payback

by timehopper



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Undercover Missions, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:37:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: McCree's spent months working this undercover mission, and Ashe's sudden appearance threatens to ruin everything he's done so far. Fortunately for him, she plans to keep his secret... but not without a little something in return.





	Payback

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Bendoverwatch @ Pillowfort's Kink Week](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/402921). Opened up "requests" and one of them was for Public Sex with McAshe. So that's what I did!

Of all the people that could have been sent to sign this arms deal, McCree had really hoped it wouldn't be anyone he knew. New blood was welcome blood, as far as he was concerned.

He hadn’t wanted to be sent on this mission in the first place. McCree had spent the last few months infiltrating an arms manufacturing company that had some sticky involvement in black market deals. He’d managed to fake his way into the company’s inner circle by giving them information about gangs that were heavily involved in trafficking, and when the company inevitably met up with these gangs, McCree would pass on the information to Overwatch. It had resulted in a few busts, and he was proud of the work, but as with all good things, it seemed it would soon have to come to an end.

There were a hundred and one reasons not to pick McCree to sign this deal with the Deadlock Gang - the first and foremost being that he was a wanted man in Deadlock Gorge, both by the authorities and the Deadlock gang itself. As a former member of said gang and the only one who had defected and lived to tell the tale, there were more than a few friends from the old days looking to pay him back for all the trouble he'd caused. And if they had their way, he'd be paying with his head.

The remaining hundred reasons for why he hadn't wanted to be chosen for the mission all stemmed from that first one in some way or another. And even then, the root of all those reasons was one person whose company McCree would rather have avoided, and whose company he was now currently enjoying: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe.

It was just his luck that Ashe herself would be the one in charge of this. McCree supposed he should have expected it; it was a big damn deal, and Ashe had a bit of a controlling streak in her. Good for the gang, not so good for her lackeys, and certainly not good for Jesse McCree.

When she had stepped into the room, heels clacking and tail of her coat swaying, it had taken everything in McCree not to curse under his breath. He tried not to make eye contact with her, but he’d heard the slight falter in her steps and looked anyway. Ashe’s eyes were locked on him, a smirk tugging at the corners of her bright red lips. McCree glared back at her, and the first chance he got, he raised his finger to his lips: _don’t say a damn word._

Ashe had almost laughed at him, but thankfully, she still had some scrap of self-control in her, and she’d turned away to talk to the big boss. She hit it off with him immediately, and when the deal was done and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders to invite her and the gang for a drink, Ashe had turned and looked smugly at McCree over her shoulder. He knew, then, that he’d be paying for this dearly.

And paying for it he is.

Through the evening, Ashe has slowly inched closer and closer to McCree. They sit near each other in a large bar booth as everyone involved in the arms deal chats, drinks, and celebrates together. McCree’s been tense throughout, just waiting for his cover to be blown either by Ashe or one of her underlings. He’s pretty sure Bob won’t say anything, but the way the large omnic keeps looking over at him and Ashe is setting him on edge. Something’s going to happen, he’s sure of it.

He doesn’t expect that something to be her hand in his lap, though.

“Oh, yeah, started this gang here over twenty years ago now,” Ashe purrs at the boss. “Gone from small-town troublemaking to one of the most lucrative businesses in the west. Pretty impressive, gotta say. But I can’t take all the credit.” She grins toothily and slides her hand up the inside of McCree’s thigh to rest over his fly. “Had a bit of help gettin’ started.”

She squeezes. McCree’s breath comes out through his nose more strained, but he doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t indicate at all that Ashe is touching him or that he’s affected by it. He knows she can feel it, though; his dick twitches under her hand and she slowly begins to massage it, coaxing it to life under her skilled fingers.

McCree tunes out of the conversation entirely in favour of pretending to sip his whiskey. He’s been careful not to drink at all tonight for fear of letting his guard down around Ashe. He’s wanted to drink, sure; so, so bad, to reduce the stress of worrying about blowing his cover and then having to blow the heads off everyone he’d spent months trying to work up a rapport with, but he’s held fast. Jesse McCree can show some self-restraint when he wants to.

Ashe has seemed to have a similar idea. She’s faked drinking all night too, calling for rounds of shots and new drinks to be passed around among everyone, but never partaking herself. She’s mimed drinking a few times, but McCree’s seen her slide her shot glass along the table discretely to someone else and then point out they’ve still got a drink waiting. It’s clever, really, and McCree would be impressed if he wasn’t so wary.

He puts the glass down as Ashe takes his zipper between her fingers and pulls it down. McCree is hard now, and the bit of extra room is welcome, but he feels an acute heat in his face as he realizes what’s going on.

“What are you doing?” he hisses at her as soon as the guy she’d been speaking to turns to talk to someone else. Ashe just purses her lips and hums.

“Well, I’d think that was obvious. I’m havin’ myself a bit of little fun.”

McCree’s eyes narrow. “Wouldn’t you rather take this somewhere else?”

“Nope.” Ashe smiles up at him, all sugar and venom. There’s nothing cute or charming about it at all despite the effect she’s trying to create. “I’m already keepin’ one secret for you. Why not add another to the list?”

It’s her way of saying ‘ _let me do this or I’m telling everyone about you_ ,’ but somehow, McCree doesn’t find himself minding too much. He can’t deny that Ashe looks _good_ for her age, and the cut of that tight leather vest frames and hugs her figure in all the right ways. He’s been trying to ignore how damn good she looks all night (he doesn’t want to make matters more complicated than they already are), but now that she’s not giving him much choice, he decides to bask in it a little. It’s not every night a pretty woman (who admittedly probably hates his guts) decides she’s going to give him a handjob under the table.

He’s already long past admitting he’s had fantasies like this about her back when he was a teenager. That was back when they were both young and stupid, though, not now that they’re older and more experienced and, he’d thought, more mature. But that’s part of what makes this exciting - they ain’t kids anymore, so they can’t get away with this if they get caught.

But McCree has no intention of getting caught.

Ashe pulls his cock free and strokes it lovingly, wrapping her long, slender fingers around it and running them over the head. McCree suppresses a shudder and lets her continue, encouraging her with a low hum in the back of his throat. Ashe takes the hint and grips tighter.

He shuffles up closer to the table to better hide what she’s doing. Ashe follows, intent on stroking him to full hardness. She does, easily, and McCree is a little bit embarrassed at how easy it is to get him so worked up so fast. He doesn't mind too much, though, not when Ashe is doing such a good job.

She smears precum over the tip of his dick as another of McCree's temporary associates joins them at the table. He leers at Ashe, looking her up and down, and McCree feels a twinge of smug satisfaction. He may be checking Ashe out, but McCree is the one getting jerked off by her under the table.

“You got somethin’ to say to me?” Ashe asks, leaning forward toward the man. The hand that isn't squeezing and stroking McCree under the table comes to rest under her chin. She bats her eyelashes.

“Just admiring your beauty,” the man says, like he really thinks this will win Ashe over. McCree almost laughs; he knows she's smarter than that.

“You don't say?” With a giggle, Ashe shifts forward, subtly moving even closer to McCree. It's the fakest sound McCree has ever heard, but one of the better attempts he's seen from her to do one thing while pretending to do another. As interested in their new drinking buddy as she seems, Ashe is just using him as an excuse to get what she really wants.

The man chuckles and leans forward. “May I buy you a drink?”

“Go on then.”

He gets up and leaves the two of them alone. As soon as his back is turned, Ashe lifts her hand off McCree's cock, spits in it, and puts it right back where it was so she can stroke it more smoothly.

“Classy,” McCree grunts sarcastically. “Thought you were gonna stop for a sec there.”

“Shut up, McCree,” Ashe says.

That's all the time they have to talk; as soon as she says that, the man comes back with another drink, this time some red cocktail in a fancy-looking glass. McCree doesn't know or care what it is. Ashe takes it and pretends to drink, but sets it down again without a drop of it passing her lips.

They chat for a bit, Ashe and the European man (fuck if McCree can remember exactly where he’s from), and the more they talk, the harder Ashe works to get McCree off. Her hand and arm are working fast enough now McCree is shocked that the businessman hasn't noticed what she's doing.

But Ashe stops all of a sudden, and it's all McCree can do not to gasp and grab her wrist to force her back to it. He'd been getting close. Did Ashe know? Was that her plan of revenge all along?

“Gettin’ a touch hot in here,” she says as she unbuttons her vest. “You don't mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” the man says, nodding as he holds his hand out flat to her. She smiles and drapes it over McCree’s lap so that it covers not only her hand, but the large, dripping cock she holds in it. Her shirt has ridden up a bit, and sadly, she tugs it back down in place.

But that’s not all she does. McCree catches more movement in the corner of his eye: Ashe thumbs at her belt and undoes the latch in one swift motion. If McCree hadn’t been watching, even he might not have been able to notice. The man sitting across from them certainly hasn’t; his eyes are firmly in place on Ashe’s chest now that it’s free of the tight leather that had been restraining it.

The man licks his lips and finally moves his eyes back up to Ashe. “You are right; it _is_ getting hot in here,” he says. “Perhaps we should relocate? If you do not have plans for the rest of the night…”

Ashe grins like the cat that got the canary. “Sorry, partner, but it just so happens that I do,” she says, and all at once her arms are around McCree’s neck and she’s pulling herself into his lap. McCree can very acutely feel the warm outline of her pussy drag against his exposed cock; it twitches, desperate to get inside her. He licks his too-dry lips, and Ashe continues: “Your bodyguard here’s already made me an offer, and I’d hate to pass him up. He asked so nice, too.” Her voice is a low, smug purr, too close to McCree’s ear. McCree just laughs, more breathless than he’d like, and shrugs.

The man looks put-out, but he doesn’t protest. “You are a lucky man,” he says before graciously taking his leave. McCree glances at Ashe out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t know about that,” he says, and Ashe grinds down on him _just right_. That’s more than enough to quiet him a moment.

“Thought I told you to shut your mouth,” Ashe says. “So shut it. You owe me.”

He supposes he does, and he’s more than happy to repay this particular debt. A hand comes down to rest over the curve of Ashe’s hip, and she smirks. “That’s more like it,” she says. Then, without warning, she reaches down and tugs her pants - and panties - down far enough that McCree can feel her slide wetly over his exposed cock.

“What the hell d’you think you’re doing?” he asks, head darting around in a panic in case anyone’s looking in their general direction, but Ashe just silences him with a roll of her hips and a finger to his lips.

“We ain’t gonna get caught,” she assures him, and McCree doesn’t believe her for a second. “Just keep quiet and everything’ll be fine. Ashe is gonna take good care of you, baby.”

She slides over him again, her dripping pussy leaving a slick line over his cock before she reaches down between the two of them and guides it to her hole. Ashe takes him in greedily, fluttering around McCree’s cock with every inch she takes. Her breathing is remarkably controlled, but even Ashe can’t stop herself from shuddering and biting her lip when McCree finally bottoms out inside her.

“Jesus. Didn’t realize you were so damn big.”

“What, can’t handle it?”

“Oh, I can handle it. I’ve had bigger.”

If McCree wasn’t a hundred percent sure she was lying to him, his ego would have been a little bruised. He decides not to say anything, though, in case Ashe suddenly changes her mind. And she’s too tight, too perfect around him for McCree to risk that right now.

“You okay down there, cowboy?” Ashe sneers. “‘Cause you’re takin’ an awfully long time to get started.”

McCree grabs her hips again and leans his head on her shoulder. “Just tryin’ to enjoy the moment,” he says.

“Well quit takin’ so long! Just hurry up and fuck me, Jesse. Or should I go ask that nice gentlemen to wait up after all?”

“Like hell.” McCree considers messing with her a little more, but opts this time to do as Ashe asks and get right down to business. He doesn’t move much; he rocks his hips back and forth, feeling his cock move inside her and hitting her deepest walls without even trying. Ashe bites down a gasp when he brushes against something sensitive, and McCree makes sure to hit that spot again and again and again.

Ashe trembles in his hold. She takes her vest and covers the two of them up, trying to hide the fact that they’re fucking in the middle of a semi-crowded bar, and McCree can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you think the damage has been done?” he asks.

“Nobody’s said nothin’ yet,” Ashe snaps right back, and she grinds down against him, practically bucking her hips and driving his cock as deep inside as it could go. “And I need you to go harder, damn it.”

“Suit yourself,” McCree says. His hands come up from her hips, one taking her wrists and yanking her arms behind her back, and the other one settles around the back of her neck. He presses down on either side of it with his thumb and forefinger and Ashe really does gasp this time.

“Shut up,” McCree says lazily, lips curving up and painting his words in cheerful, ribbing tones. Ashe clicks her tongue, clearly not happy that he’s mocking her, and McCree’s grin grows. Now _this_ is more like it.

Ashe flexes her kegels, clamping down around McCree’s cock, and grinds against him hard again. The movement catches McCree by surprise and he sputters. Pleased, Ashe moves against him again, rolling her hips sinfully. She works him hard and she works him good, and soon McCree is coming inside her, fingers tightening involuntarily.

The pressure must have been the last thing Ashe needed to come, because as McCree rides out his orgasm, he distantly feels her clench around him even harder, and he isn’t sure if it’s her ejaculate or his he feels gushing around him. He hopes none of it gets on either of their pants, but he supposes if it does, he can just knock over a glass of whiskey and blame the wet stain on that. The idea grows on him when he realizes how much it’d piss Ashe off to have to clean whiskey off herself.

He doesn’t have to worry about it, though. Ashe climbs off him a moment later and cleans them both off with bar napkins before crumpling them up and stuffing them in an empty glass. She tucks McCree back into his pants and he gasps, still oversensitive. He watches lazily as she hastily re-zips her own fly, then he mimics her action and sits up straight, ready to pretend like none of this ever happened (but equally ready to remember this experience every lonely night he has for the rest of his life).

“We done here?” he asks. Ashe smirks at him, her eyes roving up and down her body as she leers at him.

“For now,” she says. “But I told that gentleman over there you planned to take me home tonight.  I expect you not to make a liar out of me, you hear?” She winks at him and stands, seeing herself out of the booth.

McCree laughs. He raises a hand to his mouth and calls after her: “You wish!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, have a chat, or find out how to support me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r) or follow my writing blog [@intim3ate](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com), where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests.
> 
> If you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1122210346939244544). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
